


Best-Laid Plans

by silverr



Series: The Adventures of Vem and Daw [2]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Aliases, Angry Earth, Crack Treated Seriously, DC Cameos - Freeform, Eco-Terrorism, Evil Plans, F/F, Justice League Dark Characters, Magic-Users, Rainbow magic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-02
Updated: 2020-11-02
Packaged: 2021-03-07 15:53:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 13,653
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26900197
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/silverr/pseuds/silverr
Summary: Detective Haldis Jansson's little sister's new girlfriend is up to no good, but between the department's "psychic team" and a trio of strangers, Haldis uncovers more than she expected.
Relationships: Con Artist/Con Artist Victim, Detective & Female Con Artist She is After (OW), Detective with Secret Psychic Powers & Fake Psychic Crime Consultant
Series: The Adventures of Vem and Daw [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2021224
Comments: 5
Kudos: 9
Collections: Fic In A Box





	1. The Visit

.

.

There's a small oval stone on my desk that I like to hold when I need to think through a problem. Polished smooth from tumbling in a river or surf, some people call such stones worry stones or comfort stones, but personally I don't like either of those names. Stone does not absorb your worry, or reach out to comfort you: it is impassive, and while holding it may make you feel calmer or even reassured, that has nothing to do with the stone, and everything to do with the person holding it. 

Still, I suppose that "impassive stone" wouldn't be a very marketable name. 

I held the stone for a moment, and was glad that it didn't take my anger away, for I wanted to hold on to it until the job was done. I just didn't want it to interfere with all the other things I had to do today, so I held the rock while I bottled the anger and put it on a mental shelf, then slipped it into my pocket as I picked up the phone and called my old partner Katsella Daw. I needed to make arrangements to bring Daw groceries and swap out his stack of library books, and also to talk to him about this thing that had made me angry.

I pretended not to notice as our resident psychic slipped into the chair next to my desk, cupping his chin in his hand as he looked up at me attentively. The harsh light of my desk lamp usually leached color from anything it fell on, but it had nothing but adoration for November "Vem" March, a handsome — his blue-green eyes, golden brown skin, and thick black hair had more than one person in the department sighing — and ridiculously likeable young man. The son of a wealthy ambassador, Vem's abilities had saved Daw from a serial killer several months ago: we were all still grateful.

I said to Daw, "I'll be there in an hour."

"Whatcha doing?" Vem asked as I hung up the phone. "Can I tag along?" 

I double-checked the papers in my in-basket to make sure there was nothing pressing, then switched off my lamp. "Boring errands."

"Oh, I don't mind," Vem said, and stood. He fluttered his eyelashes at me. "I have nothing else to do. Let's go!" 

I stood up and took my purse from the desk drawer. "Your charms are wasted on me, November," I said, pushing in my chair. "Seriously, it'll be very boring. Picking up library books. Buying groceries."

"And I'm telling you, Detective Jansson, I don't mind," he said. "It's for Katsella, right? _Please_ let me help."

"You call him Katsella?"

"Not where he can hear me," Vem said in an exaggerated whisper, then got serious. "I haven't seen him since he got out of the hospital."

Hearing that gave me pause. Daw, who was nearly three times Vem's age, was a curmudgeon, but I'd thought he'd bonded somewhat with the younger man. Granted, Daw often described him as the universe's most annoyingly energetic puppy — a description that at times was very apt — and often grumbled that Vem's constant come-ons got on his nerves, but I knew Daw well enough to see that he was secretly entertained. Suddenly refusing to see Vem sounded as if Daw was doubling down on the grumpy old fart routine, and I wondered why. 

Then again, from the beginning I had a sense that there was more to the circumstances of Daw's injury and Vem's heroics than I had been told. I didn't know the details.

I didn't need to: some secrets deserve to be kept. 

For example, Daw's clairvoyance. For years I had suspected that genuine psychic abilities were the real source of Daw's intermittent "flashes of insight," insights that he was now passing along to Vem for some reason. This too was something I'd kept to myself: I'd admit my suspicions if Daw ever asked me outright, but if he and Vem wanted to preserve a charade, so be it.

I was, in fact, more and more impressed how completely Vem had protected Daw's secret. It supported my assessment that Vem's studied frivolousness, his peacock exterior, was in great part a deliberate choice. Camouflage and misdirection can both be used defensively: distract people to draw their attention away from things of real concern. It's the classic "Always keep some of your money in your wallet, in case that makes muggers forget to look in your shoe" strategy. 

And the young man certainly used this strategy well. By the time we'd left the library with Daw's latest borrowings, he had progressed from talking about frivolous matters to telling me that his father—a toxically non-supportive parent at the best of times—had repossessed his car, cut off his living allowance, and frozen his credit cards. He turned the story of how he'd been ejected from his luxury suite in the Golden Imperial Hotel into a tale of amusingly caricatured characters and zany hijinks, as if to distract me from the facts. 

I hesitated a little before asking, "So where are you living now?" Our department was paying him something--after all, he was, with Daw's help, reporting leads that closed cases—but as a part-time consultant he couldn't be making very much.

"Oh, I've been looking at the cutest little places," he said with forced enthusiasm. "I'll be going with a post-Kondo ultra-minimalist theme. Nothing through the door unless it brings me joy. It'll be very _wabi-sabi._ Totally _ma."_

"That doesn't answer my question," I said. 

"I'm depending on the kindness of strangers. It's been good, actually. Learning how to live without instant gratification. A whole new world. Prioritizing purchases and following a budget. I feel like a better person already." He gave a half-laugh, and looked out the car window. "I guess my father was right."

An awkward silence followed as I mulled what to say next. Obviously it would be a shock to go from wealthy privilege to having to live paycheck-to-paycheck, but it could be a valuable experience. Farfar used to say that misfortune put one's feet in smaller boots.

Predictably, by the time we parked at the grocery store Vem had retreated behind his smokescreen: he was tossing flirty eyes at every man who crossed our path. 

As we moved out of the canned goods aisle and into the fresh fruit and vegetable area I teased, "Are you sure you don't want to stay here?" 

He unlocked his gaze from a smirking young man who was fondling an eggplant. "No no, I said I'd help, and help I shall." He gave me a nudge, then pointed his chin at a dark-haired woman I'd noticed scrutinizing the nectarines. "You might want to stay, though."

"What?"

"She's checking you out," Vem said in a stage whisper.

Started, I met the woman's eyes. She was at least a decade younger than me, perhaps thirty-five or forty. A hundred and seventy centimeters, sixty-eight to seventy kilos. Lebanese or Turkish, with glossy black hair and laugh crinkles around her eyes. Her smile was slightly shy. 

My heart gave a tiny flutter and I looked away, slipping my hand into my pocket to curl my fingers around my stone. "I'm not here to find a date."

Vem leaned into my field of view, raised his eyebrows, and gave me an exaggerated look that I took to mean _Well, neither am I!_

We wheeled off to finish the shopping.

.

As we carried the bags out of the store, I asked, "How much of your helpfulness is wanting to see inside Daw's apartment?" 

Vem gave a deep, melodramatic sigh. "Detective Jansson, you wound me! If I wasn't laden down with grocery bags, I'd put a hand over my heart."

"Yes, I'm sure you would." I shifted the two bags I was carrying in my left hand to my right, gave him a bemused look to let him know all was forgiven, then dug in my coat pocket for my key ring.

"Okay, I admit _some_ curiosity," Vem said, transferring all the bags he was carrying to one hand so that he could take all of mine with the other. "But no more than thirty percent. At least eighty-five percent is wanting to see for myself how Katsella is doing—phone calls and emails only tell me so much."

"How much of it is wanting to stay on my good side?" I teased.

Without hesitation he said, "Sixty percent." 

I laughed. "It's better if you stop trying so hard." We had reached my car; I unlocked the trunk. "Also, you do know that thirty and eighty-five and sixty is one hundred and seventy-five? Percent." 

"Haldis, you should have figured out by now that 'Over the Top' is my middle name," Vem said. "But it's not just curiosity. I care about him." 

"I know you do," I said as we got in the car. 

_And though he'll never admit it, so does he._

_._

Daw lived on a quiet street shaded by mature trees. The buildings, mostly bungalows and small townhouses, dated back to the 1970s, but I always felt as though the neighborhood was in a protective bubble; nothing burnt out or boarded up, no graffiti, but also no gentrification.

As we pulled up in front of Daw's building, Vem said, "Huh, not what I expected."

"Oh? What did you expect?"

"I don't know. Something less hipster Brooklyn and more… Bogart?" He gathered up all the bags from the trunk before I could take any. "A tiny room in a ten story apartment building. Creaky brass elevators. Disreputable men in hats, smoking. Bread lines. Spittoons."

"Sidney Lorre lurking behind the front desk?"

He gave me a puzzled look. "Sidney who now?"

I knocked on the door of Daw's townhouse. "Grumpy old man! We have your provisions! Books and food!" After a few minutes I heard faint noises of movement. I knocked again, more gently, and said, "Open your door and let us in!"

A grouchy rumble asked, "Us? Who's with you?"

"Yes, Hoo is with me," I said, grinning at Vem. I could never resist making that little joke about his nickname. 

Daw swore. A series of muffled sounds followed: thumps, cabinet doors squeaking, drawers opening and closing.

"What's the hangup?" Vem asked me, and then said loudly to the door, "You don't have to hide the porn mags! Between Haldis and me we've seen it all before!"

I rolled my eyes: he was such a rascal. "I could have predicted this," I said, offering him the opening.

And he pounced, raising his eyebrows and saying, "Isn't that my job?" 

"It is at that," I said. 

Vem jerked his head at the door. "So what is it that he's doing?"

I was almost certain that Daw was putting family photos and mementos out of sight in order to avoid Vem's inevitable barrage of questions, but all I said was, "Tidying."

"Bodies?" Vem sighed and leaned against the door. "He doesn't have to tidy up on my account. He'd still be my dapper silver fox, even if he was a secret slob." He leaned toward me and asked conspiratorially, _"Is_ he?"

I smiled and shook my head. "No. He just prefers to keep certain things hidden. Don't take it personally, or as a rejection." It had been years before Daw had shared any information about his family with me, though I was much less a persistent digger than Vem.

A final thump, then there were the rattles and clunks of security chains and deadbolts, and the door opened. "Alright, come in."

The townhouse was small, the space divided up into four rooms of nearly equal size. The front door opened directly into a small foyer, which led to the kitchen. A long narrow shelf ran along the left-hand wall under the windows; opposite the entry the washing machine, dryer, stove, sink, and refrigerator lined up in an orderly procession to the left of the archway into the living room. In the center of the kitchen was a table with a single chair; along the right wall was a closed door, presumably to a bedroom, and next to it a short hallway to the bathroom and a second bedroom (whose door was also closed).

Daw, slightly red-faced, his silver hair disheveled, sat in his wheelchair, a cane across his lap. The right sleeve of his mustard-yellow sweater and the right leg of his brown corduroy trousers had been cut off to accommodate LED-studded black plastic arm, shoulder, and leg panels. Strapped to his limbs like futuristic armor, articulated at elbow and knee, they were an improvement over the immobilizing cast that had encased the right half of his body in the hospital. An experimental treatment that would supposedly encourage his body to replace the depleted myelin sheath around his nerves, thus far they didn't appear to have accomplished much.

"I'll put stuff away," Vem said, putting the bags on the table. "You two go sit down and relax."

Daw grunted and wheeled his chair into the newly uncarpeted living room.

Vem had invoked Bogart, and it was apt, because Daw's decor was distinctly Marlowesque. The furniture, upholstered in drab browns, looked as though it had come from a shabby motel, while the olive green floral draperies looked like bedsheets. The only nice piece of furniture in the room was a small intarsia chess table next to the tarnished brass floor lamp. 

Daw had lived here as long as I'd known him, and in all that time there had been very few changes. I did notice a few today, however. The battered sideboard that usually held Daw's photographs and mementos had been cleared off, leaving only two stacks of library books, a small black and white television, and, incongruously, an ebook reader. A makeshift desk had been set up by laying a long plank across the arms of two chairs on either side of the windows that faced the street. On it was Daw's laptop computer and a microphone on a stand.

"How's the voice typing working out?" I asked.

Daw parked his wheelchair, struggled to his feet, took a few unsteady steps, then swung himself down onto the sofa. "Irritating." He glanced toward the kitchen: Vem slouched in the doorway. "Speaking of."

"It's good to see you too, _Señor_ Sexy," Vem said. He set the library books we'd checked out on the sideboard, then swirled his hand over the other two stacks. "All these going back?"

"I was thinking of reading them first," Daw said sourly.

"You must be recovering," I said, seating myself in a chair across from Daw as Vem went back into the kitchen. "You're your usual charming self."

"Stewing in my juices and doing nothing useful?"

"Yes, that is exactly what I meant."

Daw shrugged with his good shoulder. "You wanted to talk." He glanced at the doorway to the kitchen; Vem was apparently conversing with the groceries as he put them away. "Or should it wait?"

I shook my head. "No, it's alright." I clasped my hands and leaned forward. "It's not yet an official case; if it was I'd recuse myself, because I don't trust my perspective."

"Where do you want the bread?" Vem interrupted from the kitchenette.

"Top shelf of the freezer." Daw replied, then looked at me. "Conflict of interest?"

I nodded. "Dulcie." 

"Do you want me to put this up?" Vem was leaning in the doorway, flapping the package with the v-shaped jar vise we'd bought. "And where? Because if it needs to be somewhere you can reach from your wheelchair, the bottom of the cabinet next to the stove is probably too high."

Daw bristled. "I'm not ready to do the _hasapiko,_ March, but I can stand, and I'm not helpless. Leave it. I'll install it myself later."

Vem looked stunned. "Sorry. I was just trying to do something nice."

Daw rubbed his hand over his face and said more gently, "Look, kid, if you really want to play with my tools, knock yourself out. Otherwise stop pretending not to eavesdrop and sit down in here with us."

"Play with your tools?" Vem pretended to shiver. "Oh, I love it when you talk dirty." He disappeared back into the kitchen.

Daw glanced at me. "What?"

I was smiling. "You two are funny. Such good buddies."

He made a face. "Aw, he's alright. Once you get past all the bullshit."

"The same could be said of certain _old people,"_ Vem yelled from the kitchen, a second before the whiny buzz of the electric drill began.

Daw shook his head and fought down a grin. "Alright, so talk to me, Braids. What's going on with your little sis?"

"She made a new friend a few weeks ago," I said.

"A friend you don't like. Tell me more."

"Her name is Anne Kara," I said. "Ostensibly the founder of an eco-PR group." I dug in my bag and pulled out a glossy brochure titled _What YOU can do to Save the Earth!_ and handed it to him. "I did like her at first. Dulcie's always had a hard time meeting new people and making friends, so when she started telling me about this woman she'd met at the zoo, how they'd bonded immediately, how they liked the exact same music, what a good listener this woman was, and so on. I was happy she'd finally found a connection. They were taking spa days together, baking bread, and having weekend movie marathons… " I waved my hands. "And all of that was fine. It was great. "

"But?" 

"Two days ago she called me, heartbroken. Apparently from the start Anne had encouraged Dulcie to talk a lot about work, and about a week ago she began strongly hinting that it would mean a lot to her if Dulcie could get her invited to a certain Wystan event. Knowing how much Dulcie hates to say no to people, she probably put Anne off with vague promises at first, but when she finally explained that she was too low in the company hierarchy to finagle an invitation, Anne stopped returning her calls and texts."

"Oh, that's terrible," Vem said from the kitchen doorway. "Being ghosted is even worse than being dumped."

Daw gestured for him to join us, and asked me, "She still at Wystan?"

"Wystan Enterprises or Wystan Group?" Vem asked as he sat on the couch next to Daw.

"There's a difference?"

Vem nodded. "Wystan Enterprises is the overall company. Wystan Group is their not-very-secret super-secret cabal." He pulled out his phone and started tapping away.

"He has his uses," Daw said dryly to me, then asked Vem, "Nice phone. New?"

"Yeah," Vem said without looking up, "Aricelle had an extra she wasn't using."

Daw and I exchanged a look. Daw looked especially irritated, which I didn't quite understand: the mysterious Aricelle, whom I'd never met, had arranged for Daw's medical care in a private facility after his accident, and had made sure he never saw a bill; compared to that, footing November's cell phone bill was nearly nothing.

"So do you just want to find out why this Anne was so intent on attending the posh event," Vem asked, still doing something on his phone, "or do you also thirst for revenge?" 

"If truly she was up to something, I would like to foil her plan and have her arrested," I said. "That would be revenge enough for me."

Daw, who had unfolded the brochure across his lap, said softly, "Oh, she is up to something alright." He tapped one of the pictures in the brochure, a closeup of striated rock. "This," he said, with the slightly odd tone of voice he always used when talking about his hunches, "doesn't belong. Every other photo is a landscape. Trees. Flowers. Fluffy clouds. Sparkling water. Stock shots from a travel brochure." He tapped the rock photo again. "A slab of dolomite is not a vacation destination."

Vem leaned over to look at it. "Maybe they couldn't afford a decent graphic designer? Either that, or they tossed it in as geology porn." At our blank looks he added, "What? Some people think the Mohs scale is very sexy. _Hardness rating._ Need I say more?"

Daw rolled his eyes, and I said, "You say the oddest things, November."

Vem's phone chimed. "Wystan Group," he read, then chuckled. "It's called the Archimedes Ball? Seriously?"

"Archimedes was an ancient Greek mathematician and inventor," I said, "who claimed that he could move the Earth if you gave him a place to stand." 

"Oh," Vem said, nodding, "So a _literal_ mover and shaker?" He reached over and, with a glance at Daw — who was staring across the room, deep in thought — took the brochure and began to skim it. "Ovela Institute? Interesting message they're sending with that." He turned it over and read the other side. "This copy's beyond vague, Mother Earth Gaia treehuggy buzzwords, but they don't seem to be asking for money."

As if in a trance, Daw said, "She'll want to make the pitch in person."

"What pitch? Oh, is she the pitch?" Vem asked, refolding the brochure. "A shindig like this would be a good place to shop for a rich husband." 

I took a deep breath. "Even if that's all Anne's after, I won't forgive her using my sister as a stepping-stone."

Daw had closed his eyes, and was gripping the edge of the couch cushion with his good hand. 

Vem noticed this and said, "Hey foxy, you okay?"

"Fine," Daw said. "I'm fine."

Vem eyed him for a moment, then turned back to me. "Well, if you know Auntie Careless is up to something, why not arrest her? Bring her in on suspicion of being evil?"

"That only happens in movies, " I said. "In the real world you have to have evidence of wrongdoing, or proof of intent to commit a crime."

"So you need to catch her doing something naughty, or planning to do something naughty?" Vem asked, his eyes narrowing. "Hmmm… if she got to go to the Ball after all, odds are she'd go ahead with whatever nefarious plan she had in mind, right?"

"Sure, but she won't be getting in without a ticket unless she poses as event staff, and —"

"Oh, I can get a ticket for her," Vem said confidently. "That's easy. The tricky part would be getting it to her without her figuring out that she was being set up." He thought for a minute. "Would your sister be willing to pass a ticket along if she knew it might take Anne down?"

"She might be willing, but she's also a terrible liar. She has no poker face."

"I can coach her," Vem said eagerly, "although there's no need to deliver the ticket face to face. She can messenger it over with a note. Something like, _'Obviously the only reason you were interested in me was for this ticket, so here it is. I hope it makes you happier than I did. Consider it a breaking up gift. Oh, and by the way? Feel free to go fuck yourself.'_ Though Dulcie could leave that last bit off if it's not her style."

"No, those words are good," I said.

Daw was now pale and sweaty. "Are you sure you don't need some water or something?" Vem asked him.

"Tea," Daw said, so quietly that Vem hurried into the kitchen. As soon as there was the sound of water splashing into the kettle, Daw turned toward me and whispered, "Pill. Top left drawer."

I went to the sideboard, found the unlabeled bottle, and reluctantly shook out one of the tiny dark green tablets. "What is this?" I asked as I brought it to him.

"Herbs. Homeopathic." He opened his eyes — they were frighteningly bloodshot — just long enough to take the pill from my hand and press it between his lips. He used a finger to push it under his tongue. 

Almost immediately the color started to come back into his face. He leaned back with a sigh, groped in his pants pocket for a clean handkerchief, then wiped his forehead. 

I didn't like it at all. What were these herbs, and who were they from, and why was he taking them? I knew he wasn't going to talk about it with Vem present, so we sat in silence.

After a bit, Vem came back carrying a cutting board, on which he'd placed the teapot and three mismatched mugs. 

"Careful, it's still hot," he said as he handed the first mug to Daw. "Do you need cream? Milk? Sugar? Lemon? Honey? Anything?"

"Plain is good," Daw said. 

"Now, where were we?" Vem asked. "Green light for Operation Entrap the Beech?"

"The Ball is this weekend," I said slowly. "That's not enough time to arrange for undercover people, even if we could get tickets for them."

Vem blew on his tea and then asked, "What about overcover people?" 

"Overcover?" I asked, watching Daw stare into his mug.

"It should be a word," Vem said loftily. "If 'undercover' is being sneaky, overcover is marching in the front door."

"The words covert and overt," Daw muttered, "already exist."

I shook my head. "No matter what word you use for it, there's no way I can crash an invitation-only event unless I have a warrant and flash my badge." 

"If I can get _two_ more tickets," Vem said, "you can attend as my date, right? Or is that illegal somehow?"

"Well, no. But as I said, I'd be limited as to what I can do during the event, unless we catch Anne in the act of committing a crime." I took a sip of tea. "If she's even there. Dulcie's last-minute acquisition of a ticket could spook her."

"Oh, she'll be there," Daw said. "She did too much preparation to let the opportunity pass by."

"Did you ever meet her?" Vem asked. "Will she recognize you?"

"No, but if she did her homework before deciding on Dulcie as her mark, she'll know about me. And since she's been to Dulcie's apartment she'll have seen the pictures of me there. She'll recognize me the instant I walk in."

"Not necessarily," Vem said. "I know people who can do magical transforms." He reached for his phone again and began the high-speed tapping. "Any reason you can't go in disguise?"

"No, but I don't have an appropriate dress for a black-tie event," I said, "and I can't afford to spend two month's salary —"

"Ah ah ah!" Vem said, holding up his hand. "I'm taking care of it."

"How?" I asked. "You said your father cut you off."

"He cut me off from money," Vem said. "He didn't cut me off from friends." Whoever Vem had called picked up, and he began talking in his extra-charming voice. "Hey, Sugarpop, it's VJ… Yes, it has… Yes, absolutely… Yes, we will… I have a job for you and Mika if you're free this afternoon? … Uh-huh. Good…" He glanced over at me and said, "Think Ann-Margret."

I chuckled and murmured to Daw, "Hardly. And no one will pay attention to me if I'm with November."

Vem finished his call, then said, "Don't sell yourself so short, Ms. Jansson." He picked off points on his fingers. "Tickets acquired and incoming? Check. Proper attire arranged? Check. All that's left is a good picture of our quarry for identification purposes" He applied a flurry of taps and swipes to his phone, then harrumphed. "And Anne Kara has no online presence at all. Neither does Ovela Institute. Shock of shocks. Does your sister have any pictures of her?"

"There _are_ resources beyond Google," Daw said.

I pulled out my own phone, and scrolled through the messages from Dulcie. "This is the only picture of Anne she sent me," I said, holding it out for them to see. "It's not very useful."

Dulcie and Anne were at some sort of nighttime festival. Behind them a blurred background of multicolored lights. While Dulcie, who had taken the selfie, was smiling and laughing directly at the camera — I felt a pang at how joyous and in love she looked — while Anne was looking down and to the side, her light brown hair obscuring most of her face. 

"Almost deliberately unusable," Daw said, meeting my eyes.

"Aw, your sister is a dish," Vem said. "But yes, that's a horrible picture."

"It would be if it was of two innocent people," Daw said. "But when one of them is hiding behind a false identity, it's exactly what I'd expect."

"Pictures or no, we'll get you, Anne Kara," Vem said sternly to the picture. "Just as soon as we make Haldis into a goddess."

.

.

small> _rev 15 Nov._


	2. Preparations

.

.

Vem said that the tickets would find him through the GPS, and so directed me to a renovated former factory building where his friend, an energetic turbaned woman named Sabina and her assistant Mikelle — Vem introduced them as professional costumers and makeup artists — took my measurements. 

After a quarter hour of my nixing one extravagant dress after another, Vem couldn't contain his exasperation. "You keep saying, 'That's not me, it's too glamorous,' but that's the whole _point,_ Haldis. You're approaching this as if you're shopping for an everyday dress for work, but you're not. You're picking out a disguise."

He was right, and I appreciated being reminded of this. "Bring the sparkly orange one back," I said.

Sabina beamed. "I was hoping you'd pick that one," she said, motioning to Miki. "It's based on a gown Ann-Margret wore in Tommy. You and she have very similar coloring. It's perfect for you." 

"Didn't I say so?" Vem said smugly. 

The gown — halter front, clasped with a wide rhinestone collar at the neck but slit to the waist, and cinched with a wide belt — fit fairly well. After some discussion of whether or not the dress was the correct length for low-heeled shoes — Vem pretended to be shocked that I had a pair of strappy silver dress sandals — the three decided I should accessorize with a pair of extremely realistic looking false diamond bracelets and drop earrings. 

"And we'll do your hair up, of course," Sabina said firmly. "Bouffant, with tendrils, and a loose fall of curls in back."

"Something retro and flattering," Miki added. "You have such lovely thick hair."

"Let's let it run free." Sabina hummed over my braids. "May I?" 

I was about to protest when Vem cut in, waggling his finger at me. "Don't you dare say 'Nothing too glamorous' or 'I don't want anyone to notice when I come in.' You are going to make the room _stop,_ Haldis Jansson, no matter what, because you exude confidence, and confidence is very sexy. Seriously."

"I don't care about sexy," I said, feeling like a sour old prig. "I just want to catch this grifter." I rescued my braid from Sabina. 

The messenger arrived with the tickets as we were finishing up. Inside the packet was a dark blue envelope containing six tickets for the Wystan Group's Archimedes Ball. 

"Six tickets?" I asked. "We only needed three."

"Aricelle said it never hurts to have extra."

It made sense that Aricelle, rather than Vem's father, was the source of the tickets, but her continued involvement in Daw and Vem's lives was beginning to concern me. None of us had ever met her, yet she was somehow always close by. Was she guardian angel or puppetmaster? Sooner or later, I was going to find out, but now was not the time.

Our next stop was Dulcie.

Dulcie was the baby of our family, almost twenty years younger than me. People kindly said that we looked so alike we could have been twins, but you only needed to put us side by side to see that I was the older, washed-out version.

Although we texted and called nearly every day, we hadn't visited in person since before she met Anne, and so I was shocked to see her now. The sparkle was gone from her eyes, the glow was gone from her cheeks, and even though I knew it was ridiculous, her unwashed hair seemed even more gray than mine. If I had been dressed in baggy, stained workout clothes, we truly would have looked like twins. 

Dulcie hugged me so tight my ribs almost creaked.

"This is November March," I said as she pulled away. "He works with me. November, this is my sister Gudrun Dulcibella Jansson."

 _"Enchantée,"_ Vem said — because of course he would say that — and gave a sight bow. It seemed he instinctively knew better than to attempt to kiss her hand.

Dulcie looked apprehensive. "From work? Is he police? Am I in trouble?"

"No, not at all," I said. "We're here to talk about Anne."

Her red-rimmed eyes went wide, but she nodded, then insisted on making coffee and setting out a platter of cardamom cake slices before we talked about serious things. A delaying tactic, but I let her have it.

After we were seated I told her, as gently as possible, my suspicions about why Anne had befriended her.

She began to cry silently, but after we'd explained that we intended to lure her into a trap so that we could collect enough evidence to arrest her, she brushed her tears away, lifted her head in a determined pose, and asked me what she could do.

"You," Vem said, pulling out the envelope with the tickets for the Ball, "are going to give her exactly what she asked for."

.

After reviewing Dulcie's previous email and text exchanges with Anne — "You're the only person I've ever met who texts in grammatically correct full sentences!" Vem told her — the message they decided on was _Since you only were interested in me for the invitation, I got you one. It cost me $200. Consider it a breaking up gift. Tell me where to send it. I hope it makes you happier than I did._

Dulcie giggled at Vem's suggestion of a closing line telling Anne go fuck herself, but vetoed it. "Saying something like that is not me," she said. "I might think it, but I wouldn't be able to send it."

"Fair enough," Vem said. "And… it's off!" He handed Dulcie's phone back to her. "And now we wait."

"Why did you say the invitation cost two hundred dollars?" I asked.

"Verisimilitude," Vem said. "It suggests Dulcie had to buy it or bribe someone. Much better than having something that was impossible to get three days ago magically appear now."

Dulcie smiled a little. "So devious." 

I too was impressed. Vem would make a good detective — or a good con artist.

"Why didn't I see it?" Dulcie asked somberly, cradling her phone in her hands. "She never had me over to her place. Always had some excuse why we had to come here instead. She always picked me up, or had me meet her at our destination. I understand now it was because she was hiding where she lived. I should have known something was off."

"No," I said, moving to sit next to her as I saw tears running down her face again. "There was no reason for you to jump to that conclusion."

"She's right," Vem said gently. "I've had plenty of relationships that only took place in one — um, location."

I put my arm around Dulcie, and she turned and leaned against me. "I was so stupid."

"You were in love," I said.

Vem stood and went over to the chair rail to admire the series of climbing photos. In nearly every one Dulcie and I were red-faced from the cold, windblown but smiling with glee and triumph. "These are great pictures," he said after a few minutes.

Dulcie lifted her head from my shoulder. "Thank you," she said with a sniffle. "I always bring my camera and a tripod when Haldis and I go hiking or climbing somewhere new."

"I'm impressed," he said, and looked it. "You know all that stuff about f-stops and focal lengths, don't you? I'll bet you could totally go pro. If you ever get sick of working at Wystan, let me know; I have some people you could talk to." 

Dulcie beamed, but then her phone pinged, and her smile faded as she stared down at the message. "It's a package store address," she said at last. Now, at least, her voice was flat with suppressed anger. "She says to leave it in her name, and she'll arrange for pickup."

Vem scoffed. "Did she even say thank you?"

"Yes," Dulcie said, putting her phone face down on the table.

My heart broke to see her in such pain, and my fury at Anne Kara blazed even higher.

"Package store is good," Vem said. "It's a neutral place where you won't have to deal with her face to face." He took a bulky blue envelope from the messenger packet, opened it, and slid out one of the invitations. It was wrapped in a thin tissue, and had a wax seal impressed over a narrow ribbon of tapestry and several fluttery golden strands. "Classy, aren't they? The ribbon looks hand-woven." Vem turned the invitation over and showed us the back. "Signed and numbered in metallic ink. Probably microchipped as well. This wouldn't be easy to counterfeit." He laid the invitation on Dulcie's palm.

She studied it reverently. "It must be magical," she said, "to go to something that deserves such a beautiful invitation."

"I've been to events like that, and they're not as wonderful as you'd think," Vem said. "The dress-up part is fun, but it's not a welcoming vibe. Almost everyone there is trying hard to ignore those they've decided are beneath them while trying to impress everyone they think is richer or more powerful. And once those people have had too much to drink they begin behaving even more dreadfully. Trust me," Vem said as he carefully tucked the blue envelope with the remaining invitations back into the messenger packet, "the invitation is the classiest aspect."

Dulcie nodded, turning the invitation over and over. "How many do you have?" she said at last. "I mean, do you have an extra that I could keep as a souvenir to remind me not to be so foolish next time?"

Vem looked at me, and I sighed. "Do you really want a souvenir, or do you plan to attend?"

Dulcie blushed and set the invitation she was holding aside. "I won't talk to her, I promise. I'll keep my distance. I just… I just want her to look up once and see what she threw away." Her voice wobbled on those last words.

I tried not to let my heart break yet again. The part of me that loved my sister understood her need for closure, but I also was fairly certain that at some point in the evening Dulcie's resolve to stay away from Anne would melt and she'd wind up approaching her. If Anne then interrogated her about the ticket, Dulcie might panic and our element of surprise would be lost. 

I was just about to say so when Vem said, "Since we don't know what Anne looks like, maybe Dulcie could attend the Ball long enough to point her out?"

Reluctantly, and with a mild feeling of impending doom, I said, "If you did that you'd have to go to the Ball alone, and be very very careful not interact with us at all." I paused to let her squeal. "I mean it. Anne will recognize us as sisters if she sees you talking to me, and if she suspects that we lured her to the ball it will jeopardize the investigation." 

Dulcie put on her serious face, and raised her hand. "I understand. I swear I'll be extra-careful." Then she hugged me. "Thank you so much."

I nodded to Vem, and he gave Dulcie a second invitation.

As Dulcie took it her eyes widened. "Oh! You need to know what she looks like?" She set the invitation aside and hurried to the cabinet where she stored her cameras and lenses. "I almost forgot… I think they're on the Nikon," she murmured, taking a camera from the back of the cabinet.

She removed the camera's memory card, slid it into a special drive on her computer, then brought up a digital contact sheet. Between a series of flower photographs taken at the Botanic Garden, and a series of closeups of piles of beach pebbles, there was a series of a woman sleeping on Dulcie's couch. A flowered quilt was pulled up nearly to her chin, and an explosion of curly brown hair framed her face. She had strong features: a high forehead, thick brows, full lips. Not conventionally beautiful by hollow-cheeked fashion magazine standards, but uniquely striking in her own way. Then too, even in sleep there was something compelling, almost charismatic about her. I could see why my sister had fallen under her spell.

Dulcie had taken dozens of pictures. In one the woman was half in shadow; in another late afternoon sunlight made her profile look like copper sand. In a third a backlight turned the edges of her hair into a glowing filigree halo; in the fourth, glare on her forehead made a blazing third eye. Others played with patterns of light and shadow: stripes from half-opened blinds, blurred rosettes from a lace tablecloth, and in the last, palm leaves scattering jagged, smoky shards. 

"Dulcie," Vem breathed in admiration, "this is next-level."

"She looked so beautiful that day," Dulcie said softly, then looked up at me. "Are these pictures good? Do you want copies of any?"

The longer I'd looked at the photos, the more familiar the face became — which made no sense. "Yes," I said. "I'd like them all."

.

.


	3. The Archimedes Ball

.

.

Daw called me the morning of the Archimedes Ball to offer his townhouse as the staging area for my preparations. "In case your place is being watched."

I didn't think it was, and was about to demur when it struck me that Daw's request might be spurred either by one of his "hunches," or because he felt left out, so I agreed.

By the time I arrived Vem's friends Sabina and Miki had taken over the guest bedroom off Daw's kitchen. "Your regalia and accoutrements await, milady," Miki said, "though I suppose we'll have to wash your hair in the sink."

"So be it," Sabina said. "I love a challenge."

"I took a shower and shampooed my hair when I got up," I said, but this feeble protest was swept aside.

"Do you have prom in Sweden?" Miki asked as I began to unbraid my hair.

"Something similar, yes."

Vem arrived with a garment bag as Miki was toweling my hair, and an hour later, we were ready to go.

I was impressed. The changes Vem's friends had made to my appearance were so astonishing I barely recognized myself. Vem, of course, was resplendent in a dark red velvet jacket that made his coppery skin luminous and his blue green eyes so piercing they looked like a special effect. 

Even Daw nodded. "You don't look anything like detectives," he said, "Maybe there's something to this overcover business."

Vem almost purred. 

"Needs one thing though," Daw said. He pointed his cane at the sideboard. "Lower right bottom drawer, March. Small dark brown box. Take what's in it."

Vem retrieved the box. Inside were two items: a tiny, very worn locket shut tight with a drop of solder, and a long leather cord threaded with a copper bead, a glass bead, and a large animal tooth.

"Wear those," Daw said, "or at least keep them close by. Maybe it'll make me feel as though I'm there too."

.

The Archimedes Ball was being held at a small art museum housed in a former four story mansion, which had been remodeled to open up the center of the building as an atrium. The skylights lining the roof would bring natural light to the upper floor mezzanines, but now they were a slightly forbidding dark ceiling.

Vem was right, the invitation was scanned but we weren't challenged.

We threaded through the crush of people clustered around the buffet tables and bars, and took the stairs up a floor so that we could begin our search for Anne Kara.

"I didn't expect such an exclusive event to have such a large attendance."

"Most of them are filler or landscaping," Vem said. "Spouses and dates and hopeful climbers. Attractive paid escorts."

"Really?"

Vem made a soft hum of assent. "I told you, I've been to a lot of — oh, is that Dulcie in the violet gown with the long scarf?"

It was, and I had completely missed her. Her dress was elegant, layers of chiffon and lace, with a long narrow wrap of matching fabric around her shoulders. The ends of the wrap trailed behind her like mist as she wove through the crowd below us.

She wasn't moving aimlessly; she was intent on something out of sight beneath the overhang of the mezzanine. "Damn it." Hoping that she was merely heading for a buffet table or a restroom, I hurried along the mezzanine until I was able to see her target.

Set apart from the central crush, a group of men and women were clustered around a tall, iron-haired white male. He was talking to a woman in a beaded taupe gown. The woman's hair was loose, a fall of brown curls that cascaded down her back, and even before she turned to take a flute of champagne from a passing server I knew it was her.

"Anne Kara?" Vem asked. 

"I think so," I said. "Dulcie promised not to talk to her!"

"Well, at least we know where Kara is," Vem said. "Let's get down there!"

We turned toward the stairway as a trio of strolling art admirers — a red-haired woman in light green, a dark-haired woman in black and white, and a blond man in a dark blue tuxedo — passed behind us.

Someone said something that sounded like "walls." I felt unexpectedly weak, as if I was trudging through thick mud, and then I caught a waft of a thick, humid, greenhouse scent. 

I stumbled. The dark-haired woman caught me and said, "Hey, are you alright?" just as I heard a strongly accented male voice say, "Careful there! Better have a sit-down." The blond man was holding Vem's arm.

Before I could protest — I was still feeling strangely weak-limbed and almost drunk — they had pulled us into one of the small rooms that lined the mezzanine. Half-blinded by the sudden glare of fluorescent light, I saw a table and a few plastic chairs. The door closed with an ominous thunk.

"Paint fumes," the blond man was saying as he maneuvered Vem into a chair. 

Vem's eyes were half-closed and he looked dazed. He mumbled, "What the hell?"

"I could have read them in the hall," the dark-haired woman said angrily.

My head was still spinning, so I focused on details. Her outfit was a floor length black frock coat over a billowing white gown. The effect was both Victorian and modern, but also was more like a uniform or a stage costume than couture. 

The redhead, whose elbow-length pale green evening gloves and artfully draped dress were decorated with realistic-looking vines, shrugged. "They were moving too fast. You might not have been able to get it all, or sort through it fast enough. My way is better."

"But now I'll have to wipe them," the other woman said. "And that takes — "

"No worries, love, I'll back you up," the blond man said, then lit a cigarette. "So maybe your girlfriend should just get on with it." His uncombed hair and beard stubble made him look like a movie version of a thuggish yet moderately attractive henchman, but his pale eyes were sharp with intelligence.

The red-haired woman, whose skin had an odd greenish cast under the fluorescents, leaned over Vem and asked, "What do you know about Anne Kara?"

"That's not her real name," Vem said. "Since she's a con artist I think we should call her Connie."

"That could get confusing real fast," the man said. 

"Leave him alone," I said. "He doesn't know anything."

"So he had _two_ reasons not to head downstairs?" the man asked with a smirk. 

The dark-haired woman made a strange gesture at me, and said emphatically, _"Llet em!"_

I heard myself say, "My name is Haldis Jansson. I'm a detective. My badge is tucked into my belt. The woman known to us as Anne Kara pulled off a long con to get into this event. We're surveilling her to find out why."

A cold sweat rippled over me. Why had I revealed this to strangers?

The red-haired woman crossed her arms and looked at the dark-haired woman. "This was pointless. Should I convince them to provide us with a diversion so that we can do what we came here to do?"

"Here's a wild thought," Vem said sharply. He didn't seem to be as affected by whatever was making me fuzzy. "You could tell us why you're after her, and maybe we could work together?" 

The blond man laughed. "Oh ho! So much for keeping the eye candy docile! Guess your perfume needs a bit of a formula tweak, Red."

"Perhaps _you_ should breathe on him then," the redhead snapped back. "I'm sure he'll find the stench of nicotine, cheap booze, and unwashed armpits _intoxicating."_

The dark-haired woman looked exasperated. "Can you please not?" 

"Exes?" Vem asked sweetly.

"Not a snowflake's chance!" the blond man said, but the dark-haired woman gave him a stern look and he didn't say more.

"Well, let's definitely waste more time up here tossing shade, so that our target's got enough time to finish pouring who knows what sweet nothings in Wystan's ear before running off," Vem added, standing up unsteadily.

"Fine," the redhead said. "Go ahead and wipe them so we can get back to work."

That was twice now she'd made reference to wiping. A tackle of fear began to cut through the haze.

The dark haired woman held her hand up toward me, said _"Teg—"_ and then stopped, her eyes wide. She turned and looked over her shoulder at the blond man. "Take a look at this."

He suddenly peered at me with interest, the cigarette hanging from his lip momentarily forgotten. As he took a step forward, a trick of the light made his eyes flash gold. "Well, then," he said faintly after a moment. "That's unexpected. She's grounded. Could be useful."

"Fine." The red-haired woman waved a hand. "We'll work with them. Let's go get her."

"Antidote?" the dark-haired woman suggested.

The redhead sighed, then rubbed her gloved hands together, and somehow a leaf appeared in her fingers. With a frown she snapped the leaf in half, then tried to touch it to my lips. "It's not dangerous," she said sharply as I twisted away. "It's just jewelweed."

"Also known as 'Touch-Me-Not,' " the man said with a smirk. "Take a moment to savor the irony."

The woman finally caught my jaw in a frighteningly firm grip and rubbed the broken leaf across my lips. It tingled, but almost immediately my head began to clear. I reached for my sidearm before I remembered that I wasn't wearing one. "You drugged me!" 

She shrugged. "Just a little."

"Now, let's all just stay calm," the dark haired woman said. "Remember, we've got the same goals."

Vem turned and extended his hand to the blond man. "Since we're all friends now, let's get introduced. I'm November March. Call me Vem. For the record, I don't smoke, but I adore the scent of cigarettes."

Vem, was, of course, doing his usual thing, but when the blond man asked, "What about cheap booze?" I realized that he was getting flirt back.

"We can work up to that."

The blond man laughed, and shook Vem's hand. "Call me John."

"I'm Zee, Detective Jansson," the dark haired woman said to me. 

The blond man — John — was lighting another cigarette. "Also known as "Ex? Why, Zee?"

"Never gets old, John," Zee murmured, and looked at the red-haired woman, who had gone to the room's ailing rubber plants and begun wiping down their leaves. "And this is my partner —" 

"Pomona," the red-haired woman said without turning around.

 _"Pomona?"_ John repeated with an incredulous guffaw. 

"Yes, Pomona," she repeated haughtily. 

"Roman goddess of fruit trees and orchards," I said.

"That's right," Pomona said, turning enough to give me an approving look. "Shall we go?"

Behind her, the plants looked oddly revitalized.

"What's the plan?" Vem asked as we left the room and went toward the stairs.

"We'll find 'Anne,' take her to a secluded corner, and make her tell us all about Wystan's schemes," Pomona said. 

"I can't allow you to use force," I said. "Not unless it's in service of stopping the commission of a criminal act."

"You know what's criminal — " Pomona began, but Zee put a hand on her shoulder and gave a small head shake.

"Why are you after Anne?" Vem asked John as we started down the stairs.

"Don't ask me," he said. "Ask the ladies, it's their show. I'm just here to eavesdrop in the bogs."

I had no idea what he meant. "Bogs?"

"The gents," Vem said. "Men's bathroom."

"I'm surprised you know that phrase," John said.

Vem adjusted his bow tie. "Well, I've gone around with Scouse boys before." 

"Have ya now?"

"Pomona keeps tabs on environmental groups," Zee said. "She started watching Anne Kara as soon as she realized that the Ovela Institute was a front."

"Those who truly care about the earth allow their actions to speak for them," Pomona said as we reached the bottom of the stairs. "Anne Kara has done nothing but fraternize with venture capitalists and rapacious despoilers of the environment for the past year."

"That alone isn't a criminal offense," I said, but I had a feeling that my suspicions and their suspicions ran in a similar track. _Qui cum canibus concumbunt cum pulicibus surgent._ Lie down with dogs, wake up with fleas.

"Another con," I said, and then swore silently. The group with Wystan and Anne was gone. "They _were_ here," I said, seething.

"If _Pomona_ hadn't wasted time intercepting you, they probably still would be," John said. "Still, easy enough to do a locator — "

Zee once again silenced him with a look. They had a history all right. I suspected it was fraught.

Vem, who had wandered away from me down a short hallway to take a sip from a water fountain and then examine something on a bulletin board, sauntered back and whispered, "Dulcie is talking to someone at the far end of the intersecting corridor. Can't see who it is, but it looks intense."

"Who's Dulcie?" Zee asked as we moved into the hallway and got into position to peer around the corner.

"My sister," I said. "Anne used her to get an invitation." A shorter version of the truth, and just as true.

It was as Vem had said. Twenty meters down the hallway, Dulcie was just visible, in profile, talking to someone out of sight. Beyond her was a fire exit door.

"Cut off their escape," Pomona said. 

Zee pointed at the fire exit and said with quiet emphasis, _"Kcol thgit dna eb elbakaerbnu!"_

It looked to me as if a geometric frost like pattern spread over the door, but it disappeared so quickly I wasn't sure if I'd seen it or not.

An instant later Dulcie turned to look at the door, as if she'd heard something. As she turned back she saw me and said, "Oh, there you are! Great news —everything's okay now!" 

Giving the lie to this Anne ran to the fire door; as she straight-armed it, the geometric pattern flashed and the door remained closed. 

Pomona then threw her hands out in front of her as if she was tossing something, and what looked like ropes, bright green ropes, exploded from the walls and floor around Anne, binding her.

And finally Dulcie, my sweet, gentle Dulcie, jumped in front of the struggling woman bound in green ropes and spread her arms wide. "Leave her alone!" 

Pomona, Zee, John, and Vem broke into a run toward Dulcie and Anne. I, however, was frozen in place, as surely as if the vines — for I could see that they _were_ vines, not ropes; ropes did not writhe and grow — were holding me down as well. 

Part of my mind scrabbled for an explanation, that it must be a hallucination, a remnant of whatever Pomona had dosed me with, but that part of me that is driven to collect facts and evidence finally propelled me forward.

As I came near, Anne said coldly to John, "As if I would tell one as shadow-tainted as _you,"_ then demanded of Pomona, "Why do you bind me, green one?"

"She hasn't done anything wrong," Dulcie insisted.

"Yeah, innocent folk always scarper," John said, lighting yet another of his endless cigarettes.

Dulcie turned to me. "Help her, please."

"I'm going to need some answers first," I said, feeling hysterical laughter boiling up at the understatement.

"We also want answers," Pomona said, "but the policewoman has more questions."

"Wanna cuff her?" John asked me.

"No," I said. Who _were_ these people? "She's not under arrest." Not yet, anyhow.

"Alrighty then." He pulled a piece of chalk — _chalk,_ of all things! — out of his pocket, crouched down in front of Anne, and drew a circle approximately a meter in diameter on the floor tiles. He added a string of nonsense characters around the inside edge of the circle, and drew a large squiggle in the middle. At the last he pulled a pinch of something from a coat pocket, touched his fingers to his tongue, said, "This'll do," then sprinkled it at four points around the circle.

As he stood, the chalk lines began to _glow._

"Step in," he said to Anne. "I'll waive the last month's rent and security deposit, as long as you promise not to paint the walls a funny color."

As the vines retracted just enough to free her, Anne gave John a scornful look and stepped into the circle. She turned to face me, and her face softened. "Ask, Haldis Jansson," she said. "I will answer truthfully."

Did she truly think I'd go easy on her after what she'd done to Dulcie?

John turned to Pomona. "Might cause less of a muddle with the muggles if we get rid of the asparagus?"

Pomona, looking slightly sour, made a small gesture and the vines coming from the wall and the floor dwindled away. 

I took a deep breath. I needed to set my anger and confusion aside long enough to be professional and objective. "You went to a great deal of trouble to attend this event," I said to Anne. "Why?"

She clasped her hands. "I did use regrettable means — " and here she looked over at Dulcie with what appeared to be genuine regret — "but only because the need was so great. Stanley Wystan _had_ to be warned about Jörmungandr, about the forces he will stir up and the devastation that will follow."

It made no sense. Jörmungandr? The Midgard Serpent? 

John apparently didn't think much of Anne's explanation either, for he scoffed and said, "What, you reckon he'll set off Ragnarök?"

"Yes, I do, and he will."

She said this with such utter certitude that it gave me chills. Deeply disturbed people were sometimes driven by delusions about an impending apocalypse, and while it sadly was an increasingly common occurrence, it certainly wasn't actionable unless her irrational fears were strong enough to drive her to criminal activity.

Then again, she _was_ acting as if a circle of chalk was literally restraining her.

As if she knew what I was thinking, she said, "I am not irrational or deluded, Detective Jansson. Think on what you have seen in the past quarter-hour. Does it not suggest to you that your knowledge of the world is incomplete? That there exists more than can be encompassed by reason, or controlled by the simple rules of human law?"

"The senses can be tricked," I said. "I was drugged earlier."

She smiled faintly, and then, to my shock, her beaded evening gown suddenly looked like a simple white woolen shift. A black cloak edged with cabochon moonstones and amber crept out from under her hair and poured over her shoulders, and a long wooden walking-stick _materialized_ — there was no other way to describe it — in her hands. 

I couldn't stop myself from reaching out to touch the gems on the cloak. They were undeniably real.

To my astonishment, tears welled up in my eyes, and I felt faint again.

Someone tugged on my arm. Dulcie and Vem were pulling me away from Anne to a spot a few meters down the corridor. "Are you freaking out?" Vem asked softly. "I mean, not that I'm not."

"It's — did you two see — ?" 

Vem nodded. "Jungle tentacles growing out of the wall? Yeah, I saw it too."

Dulcie said, "It's amazing, isn't it? Magic really exists." She glanced over at Anne. "Suddenly a lot more things make sense." 

I looked over at John, Zee, and Pomona. They were standing a little apart from the chalk circle. Despite John's admonition, a few vines had reappeared on the floor beneath Pomona, lashing in agitation. "What things?" I asked, then shook my head. "No. Tell me later; I don't think I can take in much more right now. Not with people talking about Jörmungandr and Ragnarök and vines sprouting from the floor." 

"Breathe," Dulcie said, putting her hand on my shoulder. _"Styrka och medkänsla."_

I nodded, pressing a fist over my heart, and Dulcie moved her hand over my fist. _Styrka och medkänsla_ was our family motto, our guiding principle. Strength and compassion: the two most important virtues.

"You're not angry I talked to her?" Dulcie asked.

"No." I managed a weak smile. "I suppose I understand. Or, I should say, at least that part of all this is something I can understand."

"I love her," Dulcie said, "and she loves me. She told me how sorry she was that she'd hurt me, and that she'd never do it again. And I believe her."

I nodded, and decided to reserve judgement. I would give Anne one pass, one apology and chance to make amends for the pain she'd caused my sister, but no more. Once was a misstep; more than once was a habit of abuse, and I would not allow it.

The trio seemed to come to some sort of decision, for Zee marched over to Anne and said, "Aurinia the Wand-Bearer?"

Anne bowed her head. "I have been called that, yes."

"That clears up at least one of our questions," John said, stooping to brush at the chalk. The instant the circle was broken, the light faded and the chalk disappeared.

Zee said, _"Esrepsid,"_ and the frost on the door turned briefly to orange sparks before floating away. 

"That's it?" I asked. "Suddenly everything is okay and you trust her?"

"Of course," Pomona said lightly. "She's Aurinia. Almost as ancient as The Green itself."

I looked at Vem. He was leaning against the wall behind Dulcie, watching Zee and John — I suppose "conjure" was the right word? — what looked like ghostly maps webbed with light, which they began discussing with Pomona and the woman I supposed we were now calling Aurinia. "You're talking this all in stride," I said.

Vem shrugged. "I guess. It's like watching a comic book movie, isn't it? Minus the spandex and fake nipples." 

Down the hall, Zee said, "We didn't know. We thought you were working _with_ Wystan."

"No," Aurinia said. "I have been gathering information about what he is doing." She turned toward Pomona. "You felt it too, didn't you?"

Pomona nodded. "The deep cry of the earth,"

John took a long final drag on his cigarette, lit another, then said, "Well, as someone not attuned to the phases of the moon or when Mother Nature's on the rag, want to clue me in here?"

"Two years ago Wystan gathered together a group of investors," Aurinia said, turning slightly so she was somewhat addressing Dulcie and Vem and I as well. "His pitch was that politics and regulations made access to certain resources very difficult. He has bypassed that difficulty by building a global network of laser drilling rigs."

"Jörmungandr," I said. "The serpent that encircles the earth."

"Yes," Aurinia said to me. "The plan is to sink shafts nearly twice as deep as have been drilled before. The pressure and energy released from the vaporized rock will relocate oil and gas resources."

"He's going to frack the entire earth?" Dulcie asked, horrified.

"I'd use a different f-word," John said. "Wystan has quite a pair. Must need special briefs to hold 'em up."

"If his plan was known two years ago, why wasn't it stopped sooner?"

"Do you think we didn't try?" Pomona asked, her face sharp with anger. "But Wystan was able to bribe past regulations and tie up our legal challenges with endless complications."

"And all the while they continued to build their web of death," Zee said.

"What does the Ball have to do with any of this?" Vem asked. "Is Wystan asking for more money to complete the project?"

"No, the purpose of the Ball is to report to his investors that the construction is complete," Aurinia said, "and that the network is operational. They began drilling a few hours ago."

"So it's all over?" Dulcie said. "There's nothing we can do?"

"We have exhausted every legal avenue," Pomona said. "All that's left is to stop him _my_ way." 

"I can't let you kill Wystan," I said. "No matter how much he might deserve it."

Aurinia inhaled sharply and closed her eyes. "It's begun."

Pomona waved her hand. "I'm not interested in Wystan himself. Killing him wouldn't accomplish anything anyhow; it would just make space for the next Greedy Entitled White Male in the line of succession. No, the best way to stop him is to destroy his equipment. No one will give him money to rebuild."

"I can't let you do that," I said, but I felt a sudden vibration in the floor. A feeling that something somewhere was very very wrong rippled over me. "Even if I could condone destroying personal property — which I can't, and don't — sabotaging Wystan's drilling rigs would result in the loss of dozens or even hundreds of lives."

"Actually it wouldn't," Pomona said. "The drills were deliberately built in very remote locations, and were designed to be monitored and controlled from —" She hooked her fingers and made air quotes — "a _safe_ distance."

Vem's phone chimed. He took it out and said, "Aricelle says we should check the news."

I knew almost before I saw the screen what we'd see. Reports from across the world of earthquakes, increasing in magnitude. Massive ocean swells heading toward land. Long dormant volcanoes erupting, spewing deadly fumes. 

"The death toll is already in the tens of thousands," Dulcie read, "and is expected to rise catastrophically." She looked up at me, stricken.

"Ready to get off your ethical high horse, detective," Pomona asked me, "and help us stop this?"

"You don't need me," I said, "or Dulcie, or November. You four all have magic powers. We have nothing to contribute."

"You're wrong," Zee said. "We'll have to use at least two of you, because the spell we need to cast to stop Wystan's drills requires seven people."

I frowned. "I don't understand. Why use only two of us if you need seven?"

"There is another concern," Aurinia said to Zee. "The spell will require a third source of male energy for us to draw on."

"Male energy," Zee said. "Even if November agrees to help we only have two men."

"And five women," John said. "Thinking of bringing on a substitute?"

"We can't just grab a man at random," Zee said, biting her lip. 

"I could _make_ a random man okay with it," Pomona said. "There were dozens of them swilling liquor in the atrium."

Zee gave her a look that was equal parts affection and exasperation. "Yeah, I know you could charm someone, but let's hold that option as last resort?"

John mumbled something unintelligible. It did not sound complimentary.

"I'm assuming we have to find someone who'd be okay with the current weirdness?" Vem asked, waving his phone. "What about Katsella? He's seen a lot of weird things over the years. I could tell him to take a Lyft over here."

"Faster if I do a transfer," Zee said, looking at Dulcie. "Would you be willing to exchange places with him? Magically? It won't hurt."

"Of course!" Dulcie said. "Anything to help. What do I need to do?"

Zee moved to the middle of the hallway, and motioned for Dulcie to stand in front of her. "Give me your scarf, then stand as still as you can," she said. After wrapping the violet chiffon around one hand, she put the tips of her fingers on Dulcie's forehead.

"One moment, please," Aurinia said, then turned to Vem. "Perhaps you should let your Katsella know he's about to be transported?" she suggested. "It will be a very startling experience if he is not prepared."

"Good point." Vem called Daw and explained the situation with surprising brevity. He then listened for a moment, went "Oh, right!" and hung up. "He said he needs a few minutes to get ready, and asked if the exchange would be easier if you had something of his?" When Zee said it would, Vem slipped his phone back into his jacket, undid the top two buttons of his shirt, and fished out the leather-strung necklace Daw had given him earlier. "Would this work?"

John snorted. "How twee. A token from your boyfriend?"

With an arch look at John, Vem handed the amulet to Zee. "He told me to keep it nearby in case it was needed. I didn't want to lose it."

Zee wrapped the amulet's chain around her other hand. She pressed both hands against Dulcie's forehead, then said, _"Egnahcxe secalp!"_

Dulcie disappeared, and in the same instant Daw was in her place. He was wearing the one armed mustard sweater and one-legged brown pants we'd seen him in earlier, and balancing unsteadily on his working leg. "I guess my cane didn't come with," he said, and Vem and I hurried to support him. 

John looked astonished, which was very satisfying.

.

.


	4. The Quarry

.

.

Aurinia gave her walking-stick to Daw, and then the two of them spoke quietly in what sounded like Gaelic as John and Zee drew a two-meter high circle edged with blue flame against one wall.

"Hop in, kids," John said.

If you'd told me even a day before that I was going to be standing in a service corridor getting ready to enter a magical portal meant to take me a third of the way around the world, I would have kept you calm until Psych Services arrived, yet here I was. 

Aurinia had held her hand out to Dulcie — who had taken it without hesitation — and they'd stepped through together and disappeared.

After peering "behind" the shimmering oval — half expecting to see bodies, I suppose — I followed Zee. I had expected to feel discomfort, or a tingle, but it was no different than walking between rooms in a house. Well, no different than walking from a warm, well lit room into a cold, nearly dark one twittering with birdsong. 

We were on a flat-topped inselberg surrounded by primeval forest. A pink-orange glow suggesting pre-dawn or post-sunset pooled along the horizon, but the hints of greenish aurora in the star-speckled sky suggested to me that we might be near the Arctic Circle. I looked up to orient myself, but the constellations were unfamiliar to me. 

A sudden breeze made me shiver.

"Eveningwear is not so suitable for this place and weather," Aurinia said. She draped her black cloak around Dulcie's shoulders, a gesture I approved of, and Dulcie held it open so that I could huddle under it as well. Its faintly herbal scent was calming, and the wool retained so much heat that I was warmed almost instantly.

"Where are we?" Dulcie asked.

"Can't say," Pomona said as she stepped through a slit in the landscape.

"It's a secret?"

"No, this place just… doesn't have a name."

I was turning over the implications of this when Vem and Daw came through, followed by John. "Bringing up the rear," he said, re-lighting his cigarette.

Vem's response to this was, "Cheeky," though it sounded almost rote. It seems John's comments about Daw had not gone over well.

"Not even an impending apocalypse stops you, does it?" Daw asked.

"Now what?" I asked.

John brought out his chalk again, and after walking around apparently aimlessly for nearly a minute asked, "Cardinal orientations?"

"Sol and Arcana," Zee said.

"But which — ?"

Both Zee and Aurinia pointed in the same direction.

John grunted, stood so that his back was to the direction they'd indicated, he stooped, and drew a small circle with a dot at its center on the rock. He gestured to Daw. "Stand here."

Once Daw was in place John paced off about two meters, drew a different symbol, and pointed to Vem. "You. Here." 

John turned, did his paces again, and was squinting uncertainly at the space between Daw and Vem when Zee gave an exasperated sigh, said something too quickly for me to catch, and made a complex gesture. 

An elaborate six-pointed star of two overlapping triangles of lavender light bloomed in the air in front of Zee. She pushed it to make it parallel the ground, then spread her arms. The star expanded and rotated as it floated down onto the rock, the points of one of the triangles just brushing the tips of Daw and Vem's shows.

"I was getting to it!" John protested. "Didn't want to muck up the scaling, did I?"

"Earthquakes. Tsunami. Global devastation, John," Zee said. "We don't have all day."

He stomped over to the third point of the triangle whose other apexes were now pointing to Daw and Vem.

"Alright then," Zee said. She wound Dulcie's scarf around her neck and took up a position opposite Daw as Pomona stood opposite Vem.

I supposed that I was meant to stand at the open point, opposite John. If I did so, those of us standing at the points of the star would not only be alternating male and female, but also represent a simplified color wheel: Daw in yellow, Pomona green, John blue, Zee using Dulcie's scarf for violet, Vem in red, and myself in orange. 

Arranged, or pure coincidence? Either way it was ridiculously improbable, but perhaps I was going to have to get used to such things. 

Aurinia took up a position in the center of the star and asked, "You have doubts, Haldis?"

I laughed nervously. "Of course I have doubts! The earth is convulsing, yet somehow standing in a circle is going to restore order without bloodshed? With what, exactly? Rainbow magic?"

Vem pumped his fist in the air. " _Our powers combined! Earth, fire, wind, water, and heart!"_ He glanced around the circle. "To thwart the eco-villains? No? Okay then. Too many old people."

"Yes," Pomona said dryly. "That's it exactly. How clever of you."

"Well, but it's not that far off, either," Zee said, "Just come into the circle. You'll see."

I folded my arms. "Not until I get your solemn oath that we won't be responsible for any deaths."

"You can't ever know that love," John said. "Big magic, and trust me, this will be _big_ magic — is tricksy, and more often than not doubles back and bites at least one poor bastard in the arse. But if we do bugger all to stop Wystan's fuckery, a lot more than a few rig monkeys will die, and there'll be mountains of corpses everywhere. And that'll be down to you." He tossed his cigarette aside. "Has no one explained to the new kids how this is going to work?"

"Why don't you do it, John?" Zee said. "Since you seem to be on a roll already."

"You don't need an excuse to hear the sound of my pretty voice, love." 

Zee shook her head. "Get on with it."

"Right then. Me and Pretty Boy and Darth Grandad over there are nothing more than taps of life-force that you and Pom and Zee are going to use to mix up three very special cocktails, which Nanny Ogg is going to blend together in order to roofie the planet's earth giants into chasing off the bad guys and breaking their toys. Clear?"

"That's not… "

"Close enough," John said, shivering. "G'wed, will ya? Undercarriage is icing up."

And then Daw said, "I'll talk you through it, Braids. You'll be a natural."

I felt another tremor through the soles of my shoes. Between that and Daw's encouragement I finally stepped to my place on the star.

Aurinia began chanting quietly in the center. Pomona and Zee had their eyes closed and their arms out to their sides. At first I thought it was my imagination, but then I realized that two faint tendrils of blue light were in fact trailing away from John, one toward Zee, another toward Pomona. Zee was also drawing a red strand from Vem, while Pomona was taking a yellow strand from Daw.

What on earth?

"Close your eyes, and reach down," Daw whispered. "Reach down into the stone and imagine spreading your arms in welcome."

I felt silly, but I did it.

"Hold the image in your mind."

I did, and then… I couldn't describe it any other way except that something midway between an image and a sensation hit me, like flood water coursing down a dry rocky creek bed. At the same time I felt compelled to reach out, to Daw on my left and Vem on my right, and I felt their encouragement and support as a tangible warmth. Pride and affection swelled in my chest, and then burst free.

I opened my eyes. A twisting cable of orange light was surging from me toward Aurinia, joining a green one from Pomona and a violet one from Zee. They merged into a blaze so bright it hurt my eyes, a cascade that fell from Aurinia's hands down into the stone below.

And then I felt them, so massive they were almost beyond comprehension, stirring, stretching, listening… the _jätte._ Somehow, I could feel even the most distant of them, deep beneath the water on the far side of the earth. They were slow to understand, but as they did I felt the earth itself tighten across my skin with their anger. They rolled their shoulders, and the insects fled. They found the invasive twigs puncturing the rock, and snapped them. They reached up, and crushed what did not belong, and then smoothed the roils, and inhaled deeply of the granite, and settled back down to sleep.

.

I have only the vaguest sense of what happened after that. John and Zee opened another portal, this time to Daw's apartment. There might have been hugging, and laughter, and toasting with cheap wine poured into mismatched mugs, but all I recall clearly is collapsing onto Daw's couch. Every muscle in my body quivered with exhaustion; I could barely keep my eyes open.

I did see Pomona go to Daw's sideboard, and while Aurinia and Daw watched, take out the bottle of small green pills. As she poured them out in her hand they began to glow. The light dimmed after a few seconds; she returned the pills to the bottle, then gave Daw a peck on the cheek.

Vem, meanwhile, plopped himself down next to me, beaming. "Daw said I could move in," he said.

"It's temporary," Daw grumbled as he shuffled toward the kitchen doorway.

"It's forever," Vem gushed, jumping up to hug him. "Katsella is my new dad."

I would have shook my head, but my neck was too sore.

"Charm the knickers off a nun, that one," John said. He lit a cigarette; from across the room, Zee broke off kissing Pomona long enough to snap her fingers and pinch it out.

"No peace for the wicked," I said, and John gave me a sideways look before heaving himself to his feet and going outside, presumably to smoke without interference.

I closed my eyes for a few seconds; when I opened them again I found that I was lying down. Dulcie was removing my boots, and Aurinia was covering me with a kaleidoscopically intricate flowered quilt that I knew for a fact Daw did not own. It smelled faintly of herbs, like her black cloak.

"So you're really okay if we start seeing each other again?" Dulcie asked.

"Well, she did just help us save the world," I said, humming contentedly and snuggling into the pillow. "I think that's sufficient restoration." 

Dulcie smiled and skipped off to the kitchen, but I caught at Aurinia's hand. 

"I wanted to ask you something," I said. "It might have been a hallucination, but I felt that at some point tonight you were wearing a falcon-feather cloak. Was I mistaken?"

She looked at me steadily with a faint smile. "It's possible that I have worn such a cloak at some point." 

And then, surrounded by friends and a newly calm world, I let myself relax into sleep.

.

.

_THE END_

.

.

© 2020

**Author's Note:**

> I consumed the following to try to get a feel for the three DC characters: the first 8 issues of the _Justice League Dark_ (2011) and _Gotham City Sirens_ comics, Volume 5 of _Hellblazer_ , clips from various animated series, and the two Justice League Dark movies.
> 
> Though I could swear I saw that Zee's sentences were mirrored completely, I've gone with what I saw in JLD and MystiK U and just reversed each word, while keeping the word order in the sentence intact.
> 
> Thank you to **Nalanzu** for overall beta and much-appreciated cheerleading, and to **Killclaudio** and **Vae** for Scouse and general Britpicking.


End file.
